Domestic Bliss
by at-kb
Summary: Trowa and Quatre are 22 and blissfully happy together. In fact, they've never had an argument, and Quatre thinks maybe it's time they did. After all, Heero and Duo highly recommend it. *Now updated with Wufei chapter as requested!*
1. Chapter 1

Domestic Bliss

"Are you sure you're okay?" Quatre persisted, putting down his coffee mug in favor of scrutinizing his friend. Duo Maxwell, age 22, was sitting on his chair backwards with his arms casually folded over the back rest and his braid casually flung over his shoulder. He certainly didn't seem depressed or unwell; in fact, he was wearing a grin that was almost smug. "It's not that we mind you staying with us," Quatre added, "but this seems to happen every couple of months, you know."

"Well, yeah," said Duo, as though that was obvious. "It's one of the best perks of being in a relationship." The grin became downright lascivious.

"Duo, be serious."

"I am being serious!" Duo protested. "Come on, Quatre, don't tell me you don't enjoy arguing with Trowa."

Quatre blinked. "Trowa and I don't argue." It was unimaginable. He couldn't picture Trowa ever shouting at him, and neither could he think of any possible scenario where he would shout at Trowa. Sure, there were little things that got on his nerves sometimes, like when Trowa put his costumes in the washer with Quatre's clothes and got glitter on all of Quatre's dress shirts, or when a sleeping Trowa spread out over the bed in a long-legged X and left Quatre clinging to him on six inches of mattress, but those things weren't really important. Not important enough to argue over, anyway.

"You gotta argue _sometimes_," said Duo, finishing his coffee with an emphatic swig. When Quatre didn't respond, he peered at his friend over the rim of his mug in astonishment. "You're kidding. You two have never argued? Not even once? That's just abnormal!"

Quatre thought back over the five years of his and Trowa's relationship. There had been a few slightly-louder-than-usual sighs on Trowa's part, and one time Quatre had to buy a new shirt on the way to work and then accidentally intimidated a client into paying double market price, but that was all. "Well, no, not really," he said at last. "But what did you mean about it being a perk?"

"Well, it's fun, you know, to just really let loose and yell a little, maybe throw some stuff," Duo said, gesturing vaguely. "But the real fun part is making up." The grin returned. "You kick him out of the house, wait until you both can't stand it any longer—usually like three days or so—and then one of you cracks and—" Duo's eyebrows raised illustratively. "Make-up sex. That's the perk, my friend."

"Really?" said Quatre. "I thought that was just in movies."

"Really," said Duo, with great authority.

* * *

><p>By the time Quatre got home, Trowa was making dinner, even though (as Quatre remembered with a flush of guilt) it had been his turn, not Trowa's.<p>

"Sorry about being late," he said to Trowa's back as his partner stirred something on the stove. It smelled simple and hearty—probably a stew or something like that. Trowa liked making the kind of food that was good to eat on a rainy day.

Trowa balanced the wooden spoon on top of the pot and turned around. "At Duo's?" he said, reaching forward to gently loosen Quatre's tie. Of course, Quatre didn't really need help doing it, but he liked that Trowa did it; Trowa's hands were always careful, but certain. "I went to Heero's office too, but he talks less," Trowa added with a small smile, slipping the silk tie from around Quatre's neck.

Quatre couldn't help but smile in return as he leaned up for the expected kiss.

After that, and then Trowa's delicious cooking, he forgot completely about his conversation with Duo until he and Trowa were curled up on the couch, more or less watching the eight o'clock news—less, in Quatre's case. His P.A. kept him updated to the second on important news throughout the day, so to him it was an hour in which he didn't have to do anything or be anyone other than a sleepy person who'd eaten a little too much dinner and was sharing a couch with the person he loved.

"Trowa," he said, during a commercial for Relena Peacecraft commemorative coins, "we don't ever argue, do we?"

Quatre could feel Trowa consider this fully and seriously, as he considered everything Quatre said. "No, we don't," Trowa said at last.

"Do you think we should?" said Quatre.

Trowa shifted positions so that he could face Quatre. "To be more like Heero and Duo?"

Interlacing his fingers with Trowa's, Quatre explained what Duo had told him. Now that he thought about it, maybe it really was abnormal for them never to fight. Maybe it made their relationship unhealthy.

"I've heard that before, about make-up sex," Trowa said, when Quatre was finished. His hands folded around Quatre's. "We can try it, if you want."

"Well, I just thought—maybe it would be fun," said Quatre.

Trowa nodded solemnly. "Okay." He released Quatre's hands. "I'm angry that you were late and I had to cook today, even though it was your turn."

Quatre swallowed. "Then I'm angry that we always have to watch the news after dinner. I hate the news."

"I hate screwball comedies," said Trowa. This Quatre already knew. He and Trowa had wildly disparate taste in movies.

"I hate nature documentaries. Nobody needs to talk about lions for seven hours."

"I hate that I always have to make the coffee in the morning because you take long showers."

"I hate that you hog the bed."

Trowa stood up. "I hate that you hit snooze three times."

"I hate that you leave your masks all over the bedroom."

"I'm leaving," said Trowa, picking his jacket off the hook by the door. "Don't try to call me."

And he left. Suddenly the room seemed a lot bigger and colder.

Quatre wasn't certain that this was how it was supposed to have happened. Nobody had shouted or thrown anything, for one.

He sat back down on the couch and rested his head on the uncomfortably hard armrest, which still held the warmth from Trowa's arm. The anchorwoman on the TV was talking about a species of penguin going extinct.

* * *

><p>"Hey, Quatre, I—what the hell happened to you?"<p>

"Oh," said Quatre, looking up from the document on his desk, of which he'd been reading the same paragraph for the last half-hour. "Hi, Duo. Come on in."

"What happened?" said Duo again, setting a large box down on Quatre's desk and then perching on the desk's edge. "I mean, I just came to say thanks for letting me crash in your spare room, but I'm thinking this might have to be a get-well-soon present instead." He nodded toward the box.

"Oh, no. I'm fine!" said Quatre, forcing a smile.

"Sure," said Duo. "So?" He raised an eyebrow.

Quatre got up and closed the door to his office, then sank into one of the chairs facing his desk. "Trowa and I had an argument," he said at last. It wasn't technically a lie.

"Ohhhh," said Duo, with the expression of someone who had just seen a hundred Tauruses appear out of nowhere and simultaneously noticed that his Gundam was registering a system failure. He scratched the back of his neck. "Wow. What about?"

"Nothing, really," said Quatre, feeling his smile become less and less convincing. "It's all right, though. Things will be back to normal in a few days. It's just that I'm not used to sleeping without Trowa, I think."

Duo's eyebrows rose at this. "He—I mean, but you go on business trips all the time, don't you?"

"It's just a little different, I guess," said Quatre. Before, Quatre had always known that Trowa was waiting for him when he got back. Now—now Quatre didn't even know where Trowa was, he realized with a pang.

"Okay, buddy," said Duo, giving Quatre a pat on the shoulder, but tentatively, as though Quatre had a small chance of exploding. "Well, if you need anything, you know where to find me. Or Heero. You can crash with us any time, okay?"

"Okay," said Quatre. "Thanks, Duo. I hope you and Heero are all right now, too."

"Oh, yeah, we're fine," said Duo breezily. "Enjoy the present! Part of it's from Heero, actually."

When Quatre got home, he opened the box. It was some kind of technological device that was no doubt both highly sophisticated and illegal in most countries. Usually he would have been interested, but today he just put the lid back on the box, put the box on the kitchen table, and made dinner. Without Trowa. And washed and dried the dishes afterward. Without Trowa.

The bed still felt much too big and alien without Trowa in it. He wrapped Trowa's pillow in his arms and tried to pretend it was Trowa's back. At least it still smelled like Trowa.

Only two more days, he told himself. That wasn't so long, really.

* * *

><p>"Duo's right. You do look like hell," said Heero without preamble.<p>

Quatre was aware that he quite probably looked even more like hell than yesterday. "I'm all right, really," he said, unconvincingly.

"Are either Trowa or you injured?" Heero said. His eyebrows had only become more formidable over the past seven years. "Or in physical danger?"

"No," said Quatre. He frowned. "What did Duo tell you?"

"Don't worry about Duo," Heero said. He rested a hand on Quatre's arm. "The situation will resolve itself eventually. I know you, and I know Trowa. You'll work it out."

"Thank you, Heero," Quatre said softly.

By that evening, the hated empty house seemed to have grown to about the size of a small country, while Quatre himself was a molehill in a bed the size of the Vatican. He hugged Trowa's bedraggled pillow to his chest.

"I'm never taking Duo's advice again," he told the pillow miserably, only to be startled by the rattle of a key in the front door.

Quatre scrambled out of bed and hurried out to the living room.

A very, very familiar and very, very wonderful person in a green turtleneck was hanging his jacket back on its hook. With what might have been a small wry smile, Trowa said, "That was a bad idea."

Quatre dodged the coffee table and made it to Trowa just in time for Trowa's arms to wrap around his waist. "It was a terrible, terrible idea," Quatre said blissfully into Trowa's sweater. "I don't understand what Heero and Duo are thinking. It's not worth it at all."

Trowa gave a slight shrug, indicating that Heero and Duo's ways were mysterious indeed, and kissed Quatre. But only once, because they were both too worn out to handle anything more than stumbling toward the bed and falling asleep upon it, with Trowa immediately assuming the traditional X position.

* * *

><p>The next day, Quatre had several new voicemails at work, including one from Duo asking if he liked his present, one from his sister asking if he had had his flu shot, and one that went:<p>

"Damn it, answer your phone, Winner! Are you there? Stop this inane behavior right now. Get him off my couch. I thought you two had more sense than this. And Duo seems to think you're going to go insane again. [indistinguishable background chatter] Sally, this is a private call. It's none of your—"

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Hmm, so I don't know if I really succeeded here. My idea was to do something of a playful parody of the traditional 3x4 couple, and of the well-used "break up and make up" storyline. Oftentimes I think Trowa and Quatre as a couple are seen as "too perfect"—you know, the kind of couple that never argues and is disgustingly sweet and understanding and basically lives in domestic bliss (while usually Heero and Duo have a bit more of a dramatic relationship). So I used a traditional after canon fanfic setting with characters that were probably a bit cheesier and OOC than I would write in a normal story. I wanted this story to have a fun, romantic comedy type feel. Hope I succeeded!

Thanks for reading! : ) Please let me know what you think!


	2. Chapter 2

"It's just gone," said Duo with a hearty sigh. He leaned back on the sofa and propped his boots up on Quatre's coffee table. "The spark, I mean. It's just become the same old same old, you know?"

"I see," said Quatre, nodding in polite incomprehension.

"We've tried everything," said Duo, gesturing with his hands. "Role-play, you know, OZ officer interrogating the naughty prisoner, whips, chains—" He belatedly noticed the expression on Quatre's face. "Well, lots of things. And don't tell me you and Trowa never have this problem because that is not gonna help."

Quatre cleared this throat. "Well, Trowa and I don't usually do . . . that kind of thing."

"What kinda stuff _do_ you and Trowa usually do, anyway?" Duo asked. "To keep the romance alive?" Clearly, whatever it was, it was working.

Quatre's eyes brightened. "Oh, well, usually, on a romantic evening, Trowa and I go out to a nice restaurant—I recommend The Cove on the pier—and have a romantic dinner, and then we go for a walk in the park as the sun sets, and then we stop by the ice-cream shop on the way home. That's if Trowa doesn't have a performance that night," he added.

"Not really what I was asking," said Duo. "But," he added thoughtfully, "it might be worth a try."

* * *

><p>"When you said we were trying something new tonight, this isn't what I had pictured," said Heero, gazing dully at the large crustacean in front of him.<p>

"I didn't see you offering any ideas," Duo said, rolling his eyes. "Anyway, how do you eat this thing?" His fork and knife hovered over his own lobster, eager but uncertain.

"_I_ don't know. This was your idea," Heero pointed out. "You didn't research it?"

"Well, you went to that fancy school for a while, didn't you?" said Duo, trying to wiggle his fork into a promising nook of lobster. "Didn't they teach you fancy table manners?"

"I never went to mealtimes," said Heero, pulling out a pocket knife and clinically detaching a portion of shell with a swift slice.

"Give me that," said Duo, making a grab for the knife.

Anyway, it was Heero's knife, Duo figured, so it was really Heero's fault that that ballistic piece of shell from Duo's lobster ended up flying toward the the glass wall of the lobster tank, and, well, if Duo was exceptionally strong and therefore the shell fragment was flying exceptionally fast, that wasn't his fault, either. It was just too bad that they were asked to leave before Duo had managed to eat more than two mouthfuls of his dinner.

* * *

><p>"By the way, this isn't new," said Heero as they walked past a large fountain. "We tried sex in public places last week."<p>

"We're not going to have sex," Duo corrected. "At least not right now. The point is just to walk around the park and enjoy the . . . uh, ambiance."

In the tree above him, a bird twittered briefly.

They walked.

Some ducks splashed in the pond.

"Do you want to feed—?"

"No," said Heero.

They walked.

"How long does enjoying the ambiance usually take?" asked Heero.

Duo looked at his watch. "At least thirty minutes," he said glumly.

* * *

><p>Duo watched himself in the window as he dutifully chewed through the cone of his butter pecan double scoop. It was a sad picture, he had to admit. Even his braid had lost its usual vivaciousness and was instead flopped lifelessly over his shoulder.<p>

On the stool next to him, Heero efficiently crunched through the last of his own cone. "Mission completed," he announced dryly, standing up.

"Finally," said Duo, following his partner and tossing the last of his cone in the trash on his way out.

* * *

><p>Duo kicked off his boots in the entrance hall and turned around to see Heero standing ominously before him, arms folded.<p>

"Duo," said Heero. "Before tonight, I had no concept of boredom. Now, I understand what it means." Heero slipped off his own shoes and left them in a neat pair by Duo's. "Next time, I'm making the plans."

"Whatever," said Duo. "I feel kind of sick." Indeed, the presence of two scoops of butter pecan with fudge and two bites of seafood was making itself known in his stomach.

"How sick?" said Heero, with a scheming look in his eye.

Duo considered the question; suddenly, he felt a lot better. "Not that sick."

"Good," said Heero, and made his move.

Not long after, one of Duo's buttons met the window in much the same way that Duo's lobster shell fragment had struck the restaurant's lobster tank, proving that in some ways Duo and Heero were indeed very well matched.

* * *

><p>"Well, you look much more cheerful today!" Quatre said happily, placing Duo's latte in front of his friend before sitting down with his own Darjeeling. "I take it it worked?"<p>

"Quatre, you're a genius," said Duo, slinging an arm casually over the back of his chair. "Do a bunch of really boring stuff, and then the sex seems way more exciting, right? It's brilliant. I mean, I guess it really is possible to get burned out on excitement after all."

"Uh," said Quatre. He cleared his throat. "Right. Really boring things."

Duo leaned forward over the table and said, "Next time, we're gonna go to the _opera_."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Like I said, more cracky and therefore a little more OOC this time, but I hope you still get a few laughs out of it. Let me know your thoughts!


	3. Chapter 3

"No," said Wufei, and closed the door.

The bell rang again. Wufei opened the door.

"You're not seriously planning on sitting home all night," said Duo incredulously, leaning on the doorframe.

Wufei closed the door and sat down deliberately on the couch, turning on the TV after a few moments to one of those crime dramas she didn't like to watch. She always said the science was so inaccurate.

Absently, he shuffled one of her piles of medical journals into a neat stack.

Just as the murderer had been pinpointed, his phone rang. He studiously ignored it, but on second thought decided to listen to his voicemail in case it was Sally and she needed something.

It was Quatre, saying that Wufei really ought to come out and enjoy himself and it was good to be with friends and he would feel better about everything and even if he didn't want to go out, he could call Quatre any time and Quatre would be happy to talk, even if it was late at night, because Quatre understood how one might have lots of different feelings and—

Wufei deleted the voicemail and decided to make himself a sandwich, which was a perfectly normal thing to do, except that when he opened the refrigerator he found himself staring blankly at its insides.

He was interrupted in his musings by a knock at the door. It wasn't Duo's—too orderly, too quiet. It wasn't Heero's either—Heero would have used the bell. And it wasn't Quatre's: Quatre's favorite method of bothering Wufei was by phone. With his busy schedule, Quatre would be unlikely to take a detour to Wufei's house on a mission with only a slight chance of success.

Wufei opened the door, and Trowa was holding a plastic container of a familiar-looking soup. Trowa lifted the container in inquiry.

Wufei went and got two bowls, into which Trowa poured the still-warm soup, and then sat back down on the couch. A new episode of the crime drama had started; there was a marathon on tonight.

"It's obviously the father," said Wufei with some irritation. It was difficult to find mysteries on TV that weren't completely obvious.

"Agreed," said Trowa.

Half an hour later, it was.

"I suppose you've come to give me some kind of advice," Wufei said at last, putting his bowl down on the coffee table.

"Not really," Trowa said, cradling his in his hands. "I can't say I'm too wise about relationships. I just got lucky."

Wufei nodded, and tried to take a deep breath. For some reason, all of his meditative breathing techniques seemed to be failing him today.

"You love her, right?" Trowa said gently. Wufei gave him a look. "And you want to be together with her for as long as you can. That's the same now as it will be tomorrow. All you're doing is putting your name to a piece of paper saying so. It's not really such a big thing as people make it out to be."

Wufei nodded again.

Trowa put his soup bowl on the coffee table and got up. "See you tomorrow."

"Wait," said Wufei, following his friend. Trowa turned around. Wufei tried to think of the right way to phrase his question, but finally blurted, "What do you think she's doing tonight?"

Trowa put his hands in his pockets. "Noin's with her," he said.

"That does _not_ answer the question!"

"See you tomorrow," Trowa said again, heading out the door with what Wufei suspected was the trace of a smile.

Wufei returned once again to the couch and turned the crime drama back on. To his annoyance, it was one he'd seen only last week.

There was nothing else for it. He'd just have to stay up until she got home.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Slightly more srs one-shot for Wufei! Did you guys like it? I couldn't help but include some of the Trowa and Wufei friendship I adore. That moment when they're both silently eating soup after Wufei comes back to the circus with Trowa—it just makes me go, "aww!"


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